


there will always be room for your hand in mine.

by Hodgy



Category: All Elite Wrestling, Professional Wrestling
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Softness and Self-Realization, hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:22:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26061862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hodgy/pseuds/Hodgy
Summary: In which Max holds Wardlow's hand, and Wardlow holds it back.
Relationships: Wardlow/Maxwell Jacob Friedman
Comments: 14
Kudos: 50





	there will always be room for your hand in mine.

Wardlow wouldn’t call himself a bodyguard.

He’s aware of his status next to Max’s side, knows his place in meetings, does his best to stand tall and intimidating when he’s supposed to.

He wouldn’t call himself a bodyguard, no, but he does know that his presence is important to Max, vital when it comes to making him look strong and intimidating to the rest of the roster.

When Max first did it -- reached out, took his hand, and squeezed; Wardlow had no idea how to feel.

At first, he thought it might be a joke. Admittedly it wouldn’t be a _good_ one. What laughter is there to have at holding your second in command’s hand? Would it be the absurdity? Was he making fun of someone else? Trying to make himself look meagre or sympathetic to work the audience?

Naturally, he’d dismissed it as such. Turned to Max with an arched eyebrow and decided to ask him later what all that was about. But what he saw when he turned wasn’t what he’d expected. No smarmy grin plastered on Max’s face, no sparkle in his eye at the humour of it. 

Instead, he was greeted by an awkward stance. Max shuffling from foot to foot, refusing to meet Wardlow’s eyes. He was rubbing at the back of his neck, brows furrowed, chewing on his bottom lip. 

He looked nervous. _Scared_. In need of comfort. 

He didn’t ask Max later what that was about. Maybe he didn’t want to know the answer then.

There’s this part of Wardlow that makes him want to ignore it all. Let Max hold his hand when he’s scared. Maybe he should disregard the whole thing because it’s not really for him to care about anyway. Wardlow knows his place by Max’s side, he does. But this, this feels different.

Normally, he’d bat the hand away. If it were anyone else. A girl at a club or a groupie backstage. Wardlow’s instinct tells him to push them away. To tell them to piss off because he’s not interested. 

But this isn’t just anyone. This is Max.

He remembers the way Max’s hand was shaking. The way it clung tightly to Wardlow’s like it was his only anchor to reality, to sanity. 

At first, he’d taken it as just another one of Max’s _things_. Maybe it was just something he needed to feel better. And yeah, Wardlow has come to realize after much thought that that’s probably what it is. Comfort.

It’s the fact that Wardlow’s never seen Max reach for anyone else’s hand. The possibility that Max reaches for his because there’s no one else around that makes him feel safe the way Wardlow can.

It’s turned into something they just _do_. 

He and Max will go out for food and when Max inevitably starts and argument with the cashier or the waitress or the first person in the place that looks at him funny, and he’ll reach out for Wardlow’s hand. Hold on tight and breathe steadily until he’s calmed down. 

They’ll be in a meeting and Max will slip his hand into Wardlow’s under the table when he’s dealing with someone particularly snarky. 

Wardlow noticed, somewhere between the tenth and twentieth time it happened, that he doesn’t even think about it anymore. It’s natural.

When Max gets upset Wardlow will reach for him first, and he can feels Max’s heart rate slow down where their wrists meet. He feels accomplished; proud that he’s the only one Max does this with. That there’s no one else out there that can put Max at ease so quickly.

Wardlow realized, sometime after the twentieth, but before the thirtieth time, that he _likes_ it. 

He likes him, likes Max, and he never really thought about him that way, but the flutter-like feeling he gets in the pit of his stomach and the way the skin on the back of his neck heats up when Max’s fingers lace through his... it tells him that there’s something more than a professional understanding there now. Something more than colleagues, even more than friends.

Maybe he did start out as a bodyguard, as hired muscle, someone to compensate for Max’s stature, to scare his opponents into submission before the bell even rings.

Now, as he holds Max’s hand tight, brushes his thumb over his knuckles, he knows that he’ll never be that to Max again, not anymore. 

When Max holds his hand now, he squeezes back, presses their shoulders together, feels his warmth through his suit and relishes in the way his heart flutters at the feeling. Tries to squish down the disappointment in his gut when Max let’s go. 

Maybe one day Wardlow will muster up the courage to hold both of his hands tight and then kiss Max till he’s breathless.

Maybe one day they won’t let go.

Wardlow doesn’t know when that day will come, but he can’t wait for it. 

**Author's Note:**

> anyway, mjf and wardlow are in love.
> 
> can't believe how few fics there are of these two. 
> 
> twitter @boutmachines <3


End file.
